A/N: Hello March. And where did you come from?!
March 1
"It doesn't matter what you do for a living. What matters is how proud you are of what you do." - Vernon Coleman.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs loved the smell of sawdust.
He loved the feel of the grain under his fingertips and the bitter taste of bourbon from a mason jar that he always associated with it.
Most of all, he loved the solitude.
In his basement, there were no ringing phones or typing of reports. DiNozzo didn't complaining he was hungry every hour or throw occasional insults at McGee.
Then again, Gibbs felt himself miss certain parts of his day.
Like a kiss from Abby as a thank you for her Caf-Pow or the Director yelling at him for punching a reporter. Again. He missed Ziva cursing in Hebrew – he kept forgetting to ask her why she insisted on teaching insults to Tony, or if he'd simply just picked up on them considering she used them so often. He missed the short distance to Jenny's office – the fact that no-one disturbed her, giving them plenty of time to do what they wanted.
And every so often, his team would do something to make him feel a paternal sense of pride, a feeling he'd long since forgotten existed.
McGee standing up to Tony. Or Ziva finally being able to name more than 5 presidents for her citizenship test. Or Abby... Just being Abby.
One thing Gibbs did know was that despite the pain and loss he'd suffered over the years, the ache in his chest didn't hurt quite so much any more. Dare he say it, but the love for another family, as well as a certain woman in particular, filled the void.
It gave him reason.
A sense of pride.