He needed something, even if it meant nothing to anyone but him.Gibbs swallowed hard and strode to a gift shop, buying some condoms. He had a feeling he was going to get himself in trouble and he could at least do so safely. At least in Vegas, nobody gave him a knowing smirk when he made his purchase. Guys like him probably did this all the time. Maybe the club would have their own supplies, but Gibbs would go in prepared.Was he really going to do this? He could probably charm any redhead over forty in any of these hotels into his bed. Why a club? Why did he feel the need to revisit this part of himself? It wasn't as if he was going to a member's only place and actually playing. He didn't even belong to the clubs in DC any more.Gibbs shook his head, aware that he was getting deep into Ducky psychoanalysis territory. He didn't need to lose himself in his head. He couldn't; he had to think of this as going undercover.It was a fifteen minute walk to the club, which was about a quarter. And still familiar, why couldn’t she place that voice? Her brain wasn’t so dulled that she didn’t realize it must be someone she knew. He knew her name. ‘Momma. Oh God, she’s gone. I felt her leave. I just wanted to talk to her one more time. Then she was gone again. I miss her!’ Brenna could feel the tears rolling out of her eyes, across her nose and wetting the pillow beneath her head. The man leaned closer to hear her whispered words, his face twisted with sympathy. ‘Rest now Brenna. You need to sleep more. I’ll be right here when you wake again.’ His words were already fading as Brenna’s mind shut down once more, shifting back into the deep, dreamless sleep that would help heal her wounds, mental and physical. A quilt came up to cover her completely, tucked in under her chin tightly. The next time she woke it was dark out, the wind howling against the glass of the window. A soft light burned from across the room and Brenna braved opening both eyes to look around. She was in.
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