A/N: A year after quitting NCIS due to his guilt over Jackie Vance's and Eli David's murders, Gibbs struggles to rebuild his life. Will the return of someone from his past pull him back from the brink, or push him over the edge?

Special shout-out and a huge thanks to TheSilentPartner for helping me resolve some problems with geography, locations and timelines regarding Virginia and Washington D.C.

Spoilers: Shabbat Shalom and Shiva.

Reviews are very much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, no profit or gain.

A New Set of Rules

Chapter 1

He scowled at the phone as he pulled it from his pocket. Its ring was especially annoying this morning. 0800 hours was too early to start dealing with whining clients. Gibbs glared down at it. The LCD readout indicated the caller ID was blocked. His scowl grew.

He flipped the phone open, "Gibbs."

"Is this Leroy Gibbs, the private investigator?" The woman's voice was low, muffled, in an obvious attempt to hide her identity.

Gibbs' gut went on alert. "Yeah," Gibbs said. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to hire you," she replied, her voice tense, uneasy.

"What's the job?" Gibbs asked, feigning interest. He was more interested in finding out who was behind this call.

"I want you to find someone for me."

"I don't do missing persons."

"Yes, you do," she scoffed. "You come highly recommended. You're the only one who can do this," her voice faltered, a hint of desperation slipped through her false bravado.

Gibbs' neck tensed and his eyes narrowed, but curiosity got the better of his slight flicker of apprehension. He had made many enemies during his tenure at NCIS. On more than one occasion someone with a grudge had returned to try and take him out, even after he left the agency over a year ago. This could be another low-life bent on taking her revenge. Better to get it over with now when he would not be caught by surprise, rather than blow-off the caller and have to spend more time watching his back. He decided to humor the woman, needing to find out more.

"Tell me the details. I'll see what I can do," Gibbs offered.

"I can't explain it over the phone. It's ... complicated. I need to see you in person," her voice more confident now that she had his attention.

"Alright," Gibbs replied. "I'll meet you at the coffee shop at 15th and Washington, 2pm, tomorrow."

"It can't wait until tomorrow. I need to see you today," she demanded.

Though his curiosity was in high-gear, Gibbs was perturbed at her insistence and that so far she was calling the shots in this conversation. Still, he did not want this fish to get off the hook.

"Fine. I can meet you at 2pm this afternoon at that same coffee shop."

"I can't wait until this afternoon either. I'll come to you. I'll be there in an hour."

Gibbs sighed. Guessing this was a verbal battle he would not win and wanting to meet his caller face to face to assess the threat she posed, he agreed. It wasn't as if his home address was secret or difficult to find, so he started to recite his address when the caller interrupted him.

"I know where you live. Thank you, Jethro," and she hung up.

Jethro! New clients never called him by his middle name. When a business relationship went beyond last names, clients always used his first name, Leroy. His listing in the 'private investigators' section of the phone book was 'Leroy Gibbs'. His father had always called him Leroy. It was his first name, after all. He quit using Jethro when he left NCIS.

Mulling over the conversation and the caller's use of his middle name, he concentrated on her voice. It was familiar to him, almost intimate, and it made sense that he should know it; why else would she have disguised herself. But his mind would not cooperate, refusing to match a face with the voice.

She would be here within the hour and his gut told him to take precautions. He reached for the small lockbox within a cupboard just inside the kitchen entryway, keyed in the combination and pulled out his Glock semi-automatic pistol. It felt different in his hand than the agency issued, Sig-Sauer he had surrendered when he left NCIS. The Sig was heaver, had felt more secure and familiar in his hand. He thought back to the last time he held his Sig, the day he resigned.

It had been almost a year to the day that Eli David and Jackie Vance had been murdered by Ilan Bodnar's assassin.

"Gibbs," Director Craig said, as Gibbs barged into the director's office, unannounced.

Walking over he set his gun, badge and a white envelope on the director's desk. "Director," he nodded toward Craig.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Craig said.

"I suppose not," Gibbs replied.

"What are you going to do?" Craig asked.

"Don't know."

"The team ... do they know?"

"Not yet. I guess you'll have to tell them." Gibbs stared hard at the man behind the desk. "DiNozzo's ready. Give him the team. They'll do their best for him, no one else."

Craig nodded.

Gibbs turned and walked to the door. As he stepped through he heard Craig call to him. "Gibbs."

He turned and looked back.

"Thanks for having my back."

Gibbs nodded and walked out.

He tried to deal with his guilt over Eli's and Jackie's deaths, especially Jackie's. It was his fault they were dead. After all, he was the one who, from the very beginning, could have put a stop to the whole fiasco. But after hearing the plea from the Iranian security minister he decided to bring Leon Vance to meet with the minister and Eli David. If he had done his job and declared the plan for what it was - insane - Vance would never have been involved and Jackie would still be alive. Eli David might have met his death elsewhere, but that was an occupational hazard for the Director of Mossad. Jackie Vance, however, did not deserve to die - her children did not deserve to lose their mother - due to his screw-up.

Ziva saw through his stoic facade and felt his grief, even as she struggled with her own. She reached out to him, assuring him he was not to blame for an act of terror, that this was a fate her father eventually would have earned. He thanked her for her kindness, but within the dark place growing inside him her forgiveness was something he did not deserve and could not embrace.

Vance was a different story. He was devastated by his wife's murder and he dealt with his grief through anger - anger focused at Gibbs. He blamed Gibbs for his wife's death and was relentless with his verbal onslaughts and his efforts to end Gibbs' career at NCIS. The irony was that Gibbs agreed with Leon. It was his fault. And he knew, more than anyone, the excruciating pain the man felt from losing the love of his life. His grief kept him from defending himself from Leon's anger and vengeance. He deserved no less penance than Vance was willing to extract.

But Vance's rage spiraled out of control to the point where the SecNav reassigned him to an administrative post in the Pentagon, cutting his ties to agency. In the end, Gibbs believed, not only had he caused the murder of Vance's wife, but also the end of Vance's career at NCIS.

Eventually, he lost his self-confidence, unable to effectively lead his team. He was tired; worn-out from years of death, of losing good people who did not deserve to die. His self-distraction clouded his judgment and for the sake of the team's safety, but against their protests, he finally decided to leave.

During the first six months after his resignation Gibbs retreated into a dark place. Cloistered in his basement, fortified by bourbon, he attacked one piece of wood after another. Carving, grinding, chipping and sanding each piece; forcing his will upon it, claiming power over its destiny and, with each piece, regaining some sliver of control over his life.

The team was concerned about him and for the first several months visited him often to see how he was doing and to let him know he was missed. He suspected they also feared he might do something 'rash' and they wanted to keep an eye on him. To tell the truth, the thought had crossed his mind once or twice. During their visits he was polite but insisted he was alright and made every effort to cut each visit short. Finally, checkups by the team became mercifully few and far between, which suited him just fine.

Quite unexpectedly the private investigator gig dropped into his lap about six months after his resignation. He was beginning to feel less hopeless, the grief working its way out of him, whether he wanted it to or not. He was intrigued with the call he received from an old colleague, a retired FBI agent who had built up a private investigation business. When he was offered the opportunity to buy the business and take over as sole proprietor he barely hesitated. He needed to start doing something productive again. He knew how to investigate and solve cases. It was a natural fit. And, most importantly, people usually didn't die in cases involving insurance fraud or adultery.

Gibbs jumped through the hoops of obtaining his business and investigator's licenses. He set-up an office in the living room of his house. Eventually he renewed his concealed weapons permit and purchased his new Glock.

Feeling the pistol in his hand snapped his attention back to the present. Someone was coming. Someone who didn't want him to know her identity. It was time to get focused. He placed the Glock in its concealment holster and slipped it inside his belt at the small of his back, letting his sport coat fall over it. He had a mystery to solve.