Leroy Jethro Gibbs stood back, his handiwork being admired. Another wooden project, something small. Something else to add to his endless collection of creations. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the soothing smell of sawdust to fill his nostrils. The air was still, the soft sounds of rain gently making its way through the house.
It was storming again. Usually he couldn't care less about the rain. As long as it didn't affect performance, it could be ignored. But not this time. No, now the rain held something else. Memories. Pain. Gibbs squeezed his eyes shut, a little tighter, and gripped the edge of the table. Mike Franks had died in the rain. On a night just like this, the man he looked up to more than any other, the man he trusted with his life, had died. And it shook him. It shook him more than he'd ever admit. Mike was the one that he could count on, the one who always covered his ass. The one he'd thought would always be around, chasing pretty tails down in Mexico. Gone.
"I told you my time was comin'. Not my problem you didn't believe me, probie."
Gibbs dropped his head, grinning ever so slightly. "I didn't want to."
"Every man has his time, Jethro. We can't control that."
"But was this time yours, Mike?" Gibbs leaned his weight on the table a bit more, his hands shaking slightly.
"Listen to me, probie. I'm gone. Nothin' you can do about me now." Gibbs only smiled in response, a pained, defeated smile. There was a pause before Mike spoke again. "I once told you that we surround ourselves with ghosts. Not only the ones we create with our guns, but the memories. The good, the bad, they are ghosts. Filling the spaces in our lives, giving depth to our world."
Gibbs thought on the line for a moment, letting it sink in.
"I'm a memory now, probie. One that I hope you like. I'm one of your ghosts, to be with you in your head. Giving advice, berating you. The usual. Not to haunt you."
"If I had gone with you, you'd still be alive. Hell, if I'd been a little more talkative, maybe he would have missed you," Gibbs breathed, eyes slightly moist. "I'm sorry..."
He could almost feel the slap on the back of his head.
"Damn it probie, how many times do I have to tell you! Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness! It's not your damn fault. Get that through your head right now." Gibbs nodded slowly. "I don't blame you, probie. It was my time, that's all."
"Yeah, I know." Gibbs stood once more, closing his eyes again, breathing in the sweet smell of sawdust. "How are my memories, anyway?"
"Terrible. I told you, more with naked women. Don't you ever listen to me, probie?"
Gibbs smiled once more, but this time with a bit more hope. "Thank you, Mike Franks."
"You're welcome, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."
"Goodbye."
"No, probie. Not goodbye. So long."