Jackson Gibbs forlornly surveyed the damage to his store. It hadn't been first time he'd been targeted. It had been happening a lot lately and he was feeling angry. He looked at the stock strewn on the floor. This had been the worst yet. Cereal cartons ripped, juice cartons poured on the floor, tinned goods crushed and damaged. They did a hell of a lot of damage but as far as he could tell they took nothing. He had been to the police the first few times it had happened but they had no leads and said they could do nothing. Jack himself had a pretty good idea who was responsible but had no way of proving it. Despondently he began to clean up. At his advancing years he could really do without all this agitation he thought to himself. He was engrossed in the clean up operation and didn't hear the car pull up outside. It was only when a familiar voice called his name, did he turn. He was pleasantly surprised to see his son standing in the doorway.
"Leroy! What are you doing here?" he asked, delighted to see him. He still called his son by his first name.
" Thought I'd surprise you. Jeez, what the hell happened here? Were you robbed?" Gibbs asked, looking at the destruction.
"Not exactly. Just some punk kids I guess. You know what it's like around here, nothing for the youngsters to do. They get bored," Jackson replies attempting an explanation and hoping his son would buy it.
"That's no excuse. What did Seth say?" Jethro enquired referring to the local sheriff Seth Welch. He noticed that his father couldn't look him in the eye. He suspected that Jackson was keeping something from him.
"Well, I didn't bother calling him this time," Jackson replied, before realising what he's said.
"This time?! You mean this has happened before," Gibbs asked, the tone in his voice giving away his anger. "I think it's time you told be what's going on. Sit!" he ordered, pointing to the nearby table and chairs. Reluctantly Gibbs Senior did as he was told.
"I'm not one of your agents, you know. You can't just arrive in here and start throwing your weight around," Jackson snapped as he shuffled to a chair.
"Oh, don't get all defensive on me. I'm just disappointed that you didn't tell me this was happening," Gibbs explained apologetically.
"Why? I've seen you once in the last 15 years and you expect me to run to you when there's a bit of trouble," Jackson reminded him crossly.
"Okay, I deserved that," Gibbs acknowledged. "But you're still my father and I want to help."
"Well, I can fight my own battles, thank you," Jackson replied stubbornly. "Coffee?" he asked, standing back up and walking over to the machine.
"Sure," Gibbs answered, trying to stifle a smile of admiration at his old man's independence. They were both very alike in some ways, Gibbs realised, as he watched the old man pour strong black coffee into two mugs and return to the table. He had certainly inherited his old man's stubborn streak, he noted. They exchanged no words as they savoured their coffee. Eventually Jackson broke the silence.
"You never did say why you're back again. Someone else been murdered?" he wondered.
"Nothing like that. I just thought we should continue catching up, that's all. I took a few days vacation time owed to me," Gibbs explained.
"That's great, son. I'd like that, but first you can grab that broom over there and give me a hand. You start in that corner," he said smiling, sending his son into the worst affected area in the store.
Gibbs grinned but said nothing. He took a large gulp from his coffee mug and grabbed the broom and dust pan. He swept the cereal and re-stacked the unbroken packets. His father followed with a mop to soak up the spilled liquids. Between them they had the store looking pretty good before closing time.
Jackson Gibbs locked up the store a little after 8pm. When he was not minding, his son double checked to make sure the place was secure. They retired to Jack's living quarters upstairs, above the store. He prepared a meal of steak and vegetables and they both sat and enjoyed a long overdue chat. As Jack reminisced he mentioned names long since forgotten by his son. Carefully stored memories were awoken and happier times of youth recalled. After dinner, Jackson produced a bottle of scotch which he had been saving for a special occasion. He opened it and they both enjoyed a few nips before bedtime.
Jack apologised for not having a room prepared and handed Jethro some sheets and blankets to make up his old bed. It was strange for Gibbs to be sleeping in his old room. Even after all these years, it still smelt the same, he noticed. He lay looking at the door, half expecting his mother to stick her head in and bid him goodnight. So much had happened since he last slept in this bed, he thought, a lifetime had passed. It didn't take him long to get to sleep, thanks to a little alcoholic assistance from his father's scotch.
He didn't know how long he had been asleep when he was first awoken by a noise from downstairs. He sat up in the bed, disorientated at first. The sound finally registered in his sleepy brain – breaking glass. Thinking the store was being broken into again he grabbed his weapon and ran down the stairs. On his way down, he noticed a flickering orange glow. It didn't take him long to realise that the store was on fire. He turned and shouted for his father to get up before continuing down into the store. Quickly, he surveyed the scene. Inside the front door and near the main window was already well ablaze. The fire had caught onto a magazine rack which had fallen over and the flames were slowly creeping over towards the cashier's desk, where the tobacco and alcohol was kept. He knew his father used to keep a fire extinguisher near the stairs and hoped that he still did. He was relieved to see that it was still there. Cautiously he approached the flames and standing back, he aimed the extinguisher. A burst of foam sprayed the flames. Then he noticed his father coming down the stairs with a basin of water.
"Get out, Dad!" he shouted, waving him towards the rear exit. His father ignored him and walked dangerously close to the flames at the front of his store and threw the water on them. As you would expect, the water had little or no effect of the blaze. Jethro's concern for his father grew when he noticed that the smoke was getting worse and decided the best course of action was to get his father to safety. He dropped the extinguisher, grabbed Jackson and manhandled him towards the back door.
"Come on, Dad, it's too dangerous," Gibbs shouted as Jackson protests.
"Everything I have is in there, Leroy. I can't lose it," he pleaded. Gibbs looked at the heartbreak in his father's eyes and made a decision.
"Call for help. Whatever happens, don't come back inside," he shouted before returning to try and tackle the blaze.
As he got back into the burning store, he noticed that the heat had intensified. The smoke was burning his lungs. He pulled his t-shirt over his nose and mouth as he searched for the fire extinguisher again. He found it and battled hard against the flames. He could feel the hair on the back of his hands scorching. After what felt like an age he noticed that his efforts seemed to be having an effect. Then he saw the flashing blue lights of the fire tender through the shattered window. He was more than relieved to see the firemen breaking windows and dousing the flames with jets of water.
Outside, Jackson Gibbs was terrified and shouting at the Chief Fire Officer that his son was still inside. They raced around the back to be met by an exhausted looking Gibbs coming through the back door, face blackened and sweating. He was doubled over coughing and wheezing, obviously feeling the effects of smoke inhalation. The fire officer offered him oxygen from his breathing apparatus as they waited for medical assistance. Jack put his arms around his son and comforted him as he tried to catch his breath.
"Are you alright, son?" Jackson asked. Gibbs nodded, as he gratefully took large breaths from the breathing apparatus. He looked back at the smoke billowing from his home-place and turned to see tears in his father's eyes. It was enough to break the hardest heart.
Jackson's neighbours were out watching what was going on and his good friend Gus, owner of the local bookstore, offered them somewhere to stay for the rest of the night. They gratefully accepted. He gave Jethro a bathrobe to cover up as he was still wearing his nightwear. As he was showing Jethro to the bathroom so he could shower and clean up he noticed the burns on his arms and hands.
"You should really go to the hospital and get those burns seen to," he suggested, handing Gibbs a fresh towel.
"No, I'm fine. I'll just get cleaned up. Thanks," he said, closing the bathroom door.
As Gibbs stood under the shower, he washed away the smell of smoke from his body. He closed his eyes and appreciated how good the water felt. His throat was still a bit raw but the steam was helping his lungs. As the water grew hotter, he could feel the skin on his arms and the backs of his hands stinging. It was getting uncomfortable so he turned the temperature of the water down and eventually off. He quickly dried, careful not to irritate his already tender limbs.
He returned back to the kitchen, looking and feeling a lot better. He hadn't even sat down when his father hollered at him.
"Leroy! Show me your hands," he demanded. Never one to ignore his father, Gibbs did as he was told. The burns were an angry red colour now with blisters forming, more obvious since the soot and dust had been washed from Jethro's skin. "Sit!" he ordered. "Now if you won't go to the hospital, I'm getting Doc Winters out to have a look at you."
"Dad, stop it! My hands are fine. We could've been killed there tonight. Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to call my agents and start kicking down some doors," Jethro responded testily.
Jackson looked over at Gus, who nodded, encouraging Jackson to tell his son the whole story.
"Well, it all began after your last visit. Winslow's daughter took her son and left Chuck alone in that big house. He didn't handle it well. A few weeks later he closed down the mine without warning. There are lots of people very angry in this town right now. I found out how angry when the first brick came through my window with a note on it. Whoever is doing it blames you, son," Jack tells him.
"Me? Because I did my job?" Jethro asked.
"Not everyone sees it that way. Chuck couldn't handle being disowned by his only daughter. He's hardly left the house since. None of his suppliers have been paid. Fmily men have been let go. People are looking for someone to blame," he informed him.
"Great! So I've become public enemy number one in Stillwater without even knowing it. Well, I'd better pay Winslow a little visit, see what he has to say," Jethro decided without hesitation. "Gus, can I borrow some clothes?"
"Please Son, at least wait until morning. The Doc will be here soon to look at your hands," Jackson pleaded, blocking Jethro's way.
Gibbs relented, partly because of his father but also because he was feeling pretty exhausted. He wouldn't be able to stand up to anyone at the moment, he thought. He was still taking sporadic fits of coughing which rendered him fairly helpless at times. So he sat and waited however impatiently with his father and Gus and contemplated his approach toe situation.