Tagged to episode 8x01 "The Spider and the Fly." Since this episode aired, I can't stop wondering: What was it like for Gibbs when he had both his father (Jackson) and his father-figure (Mike) staying with him? They had to have gotten on each other's nerves, right? I tried to give this story a mix of funny and serious moments.

Six Lessons in Living with Gibbs

I

Probie has a whole other set of rules for his private life. Mike realizes this the first evening he arrives, after he hears Probie exclaim "Damn it!" in the bathroom. The only bathroom in the house. A moment later, the door swings open. "Dad, Mike!" he calls down the hall, loud enough for them both to hear. "Rule Fourteen – when you use up the last of the toilet paper, put out another roll!"

II

Probie's a good agent, but he's not the easiest person to live with. Probie's old man tells Mike this later that night, after dinner. Probie went on a burger run for them, since Mike isn't too good at eating with utensils since losing that finger, and none of them felt like cooking, anyway. Then Probie settles on his kitchen floor with a toolbox, working on a cabinet door that he insists closes crookedly. Mike's never seen a man so obsessed with home repair. Jackson's at the table reading the paper, and Mike is lost in a debate with himself about whether he should call Leyla – Might not be safe to yet, but I don't want her to worry, and God, I miss Amira's voice – when Jackson suddenly turns to him and start talking.

"You know, the agency offered to set me up in a safe house, but Leroy said, 'No, Dad, you should stay with me.' So I say, 'Okay, son, sure.'" Mike looks from Jackson to Gibbs, then back again. This is Probie's old man? So talkative? "Of course if I had known then," Jackson goes on, "that I'd be sleeping on his couch for weeks, I'd probably've taken the safe house. I told Leroy that, but there's no use trying to change his mind once it's made up."

"I'll say," Mike laughs gruffly, "Probie's stubborn as a mule."

"Oh, you're telling me," Jackson agrees, nodding, "and he's so hard-headed sometimes."

Gibbs looks up from working on the cabinet door. His eyes shift warily between his dad and Mike. By themselves, these two already know far more about him than anyone. Together... Gibbs realizes with sudden horror how many stories they could tell each other. The situation with Paloma is tense enough, and the last thing Gibbs needs now is these two guffawing over every embarrassing thing he's done in the past.

Gibbs almost doesn't believe what he's seeing as Mike pulls out the chair next to Jackson and sits down. Since when did Mike ever warm up to anybody so fast? "He is, isn't he?" he asks Jackson. "I was his boss for four years, and sometimes I don't think I managed to get a damn thing through to him."

Gibbs throws his screwdriver down on the kitchen floor, loudly, but neither of them notice. This is hardly the ice-breaker he'd hoped for between the two of them. He makes a mental note to keep them apart in the future.

Jackson moves his chair a little closer to Mike's. "Well, don't feel bad. I tried to get through to Leroy for eighteen years, and do you think I had any luck?"

Gibbs feels some of the apprehension go out of him then. He has to give his dad credit. First he stared down Paloma, and now he's done the near-impossible – he's gotten Mike Franks to laugh.

III

Probie's basement is dark, dusty, and crowded, but there's enough room to hang up a hammock. It takes them a minute to figure out where Mike is going to sleep, since Jackson's been on the couch all summer and apparently Probie's got the only bed in the house. Jackson mumbles something about "sleeping on the couch... my age," but Gibbs rolls his eyes and tells Mike, "He's tryin' to make me look bad. I offered him the bed, but he said – "

"Hey, someone could sleep in the hammock, Leroy," Jackson interrupts. "We could hang it up in the house somewhere, should be comfortable enough."

"Dad, I don't have a hammock."

Gibbs doesn't know what to say when Jackson finds a large, green-and-white hammock, still in its packaging, on a shelf in the hall closet. "I gave you this for Christmas last year," he explains shortly. Then he starts to open it and adds, "Could've at least taken the shrink-wrap off."

When Mike stretches out in the hammock that night, the darkness feels heavy and safe. Anyone standing on the basement stairs wouldn't be able to see him lying there, but he would see their silhouette clearly against the doorway. I have to, and I could shoot 'em without raisin' my head – that's his last thought before falling asleep.

When he suddenly jerks awake early the next morning, the pitch-blackness feels heavy and oppressive, like it's choking him, and his hand tightens reflexively on his gun. Where's the windows? Why can't I hear the waves on the beach? Why the hell am I in a ham – then he remembers. Probie's house, his basement, the hammock. He knows his memory isn't as sharp as it once was, but he feels weak and stupid. Forgetting where you are is a rookie mistake.

Mike hurries up the stairs, expecting to find the kitchen empty, but Jackson is there, brewing a pot of coffee, and through the window, he sees Probie outside, talking to one of the agents. The sun's barely up, but the agents are patrolling the yard. "Mornin'," Jackson says pleasantly. "I was just about to fix Leroy some breakfast. He keeps tellin' me I don't have to, but I don't mind. Can I get you anything? Eggs, toast?"

Mike doesn't answer – this damn cheerfulness is grating against his mood – but Jackson doesn't seem bothered by his silence. "Well, I'll put some toast on for you. We got butter, jelly, and honey for it." Mike goes to the window and peers out at Probie talking to that agent. Jackson notices him looking and says, "Leroy's been a little on-edge. Course, this situation isn't easy on anybody."

"That why you're up so early?" Mike asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"No, that's just an old habit." Jackson adjusts the heat under a skillet where he's melting some butter. The soft sizzling sound fills the kitchen. "First shift in the mine starts around this time. Lotsa of workers wanna buy something for their lunch, so I try to have the store open early." He takes an egg from the carton and starts to crack it against the counter ledge, then stops short, his brow furrowed. "Don't know where those guys are buyin' their lunches now," he sighs.

"They'll live, Dad," Gibbs says shortly. He's just come back in from outside.

Jackson turns to Mike. "What about you? You're up early – hammock no good?"

Mike shakes his head. "No, it was fine. Even better than the hammock I got outside my place in Mexico." The hammock I had. He intends to stop there, but for some reason he can't figure out – and doesn't even want to – he's not embarrassed to tell them the truth. "But... I didn't sleep too well. Kept thinkin' I heard Amira crying."

And he lets Jackson pour him more coffee.

IV

They're used to living alone, Probie and his old man. Mike didn't realize how used to it they are until his second morning there, when Probie grabs a coffee mug out of the cabinet without having to look and pours himself a cup. The coffee hits the underside of the cup, pools out on the counter, and drips down to the floor. Probie sighs and reaches for the paper towels.

"Dad, I told you to stop stacking the cups upside down when you do the dishes."

"Leroy, I told you to start turning the cups over before you pour your coffee."

Mike wonders if this has been happening every morning all summer.

V

Probie's old man loves woodworking almost as much as his son. Mike doesn't try to understand the appeal. On the night when Paloma attacks the agents and leaves the Day of the Dead doll on the mantle, Mike and Jackson are in the basement again. Jackson is still working on that dollhouse – A dollhouse! What the hell's he need that for? – and Mike is tempted to mention the idea of facing Paloma again, but he resists. The last time he talked about that to Jackson, it made the second time in his life that Probie actually yelled at him. "Damn it, Mike, don't put ideas in my dad's head!"

"So, Mike," Jackson says, over the noise of the sandpaper, "Leroy tells me you're retired?"

He gives a small smile. "You can call it that. I'm helpin' raise my granddaughter now. Think I work harder at that than I ever did as an agent." Then – wondering when he turned from a dangerous federal agent who carried a gun into an old softy who played with his granddaughter – he pulls his wallet out of his jacket and flips it open.

He feels homesick as he looks at Leyla holding Amira on the beach. He took the photo himself, just a few months ago. Right before all hell broke lose. Amira was squirming in her mother's arms, pointing at a seagull that had landed nearby, and Leyla was laughing and trying to get her to look at the camera. His last words to her replay in his head. It's okay, sweetie. You're gonna have a real fun trip with your mom, and when you get back, you can tell me all about it. He holds the photo out to Jackson and points. "See, that's her," he says, "that's Amira, and that's her mom, my daughter-in-law."

Mike tries not to look as lonely as he feels, but he must not be doing a good job, because Jackson glances at his face and asks, "You miss them, don't you?" There's a tone in his voice that Mike can't name – almost like Jackson's talking to himself, like he understands...

The thought slams into Mike abruptly: He does. He understands because, almost twenty years later, he still misses his granddaughter and daughter-in-law. Mike had forgotten... Now he wonders grimly if Jackson used to carry a picture like this in his wallet. He tries to imagine how it would feel if he lost Leyla and Amira like Jackson lost – but God, he can't even bear thinking about it. And even though he's the one who taught Probie about Rule Six, to never apologize... damn it, he looks at Jackson, and he doesn't know when he's ever wanted to say "I'm sorry" so much.

VI

He's learned something from staying with them. Probie makes more sense to him now. He tells Jackson so, just before they leave. In the living room, as he's throwing his few things into his bag and Jackson's packing his suitcase to head back to Stillwater, he looks at Mike and says, "You sure travel light, don't you? Well, you probably hate drawn-out goodbyes, like Leroy, but I just wanted to say I sure enjoyed meeting you, Mike."

Mike's eager to get going, to see his girls again – those plane tickets Vance gave him are practically burning a hole in his pocket – but he pauses in his packing long enough to say, "Appreciate that, Jackson. Hafta say, I enjoyed meeting you, too."

"Well, don't sound so surprised about it," Jackson chuckles.

Gibbs comes in from the hall, hauling a duffel bag with him. "You 'bout ready to go, Dad?" he asks. "Sure you got everything?"

Jackson hesitates. "Well, there is one more thing," he admits, as he crosses the room to the couch. A large cardboard box sits on the cushions – something he couldn't fit into his suitcase, Mike assumes, but to his surprise, Jackson picks it up and holds it out to him. "I'd like you to have this."

Puzzled, Mike takes the box with one arm and opens the top flaps with his other. Inside, nestled among packing peanuts, is the dollhouse that Jackson's been building in the basement all these weeks. Mike starts to ask, but Jackson beats him to it, explaining simply, "For your little granddaughter."

It's a simple gesture, but it feels so powerful that Mike doesn't know what to say. "Thanks" seems insufficient when he remembers that Amira lost most of her toys in the fire, but now she'll have something special to start over with. Or when he remembers that Jackson doesn't have a granddaughter to spoil anymore, but he's giving this to someone who does. Mike isn't about to admit it, but he damn near tears up.

Finally, he just says, "Much obliged, Jackson," and nods, hoping Jackson will understand.

Jackson nods back at him. He does.

FIN