A House Is Not a Home
by TarnishedArmour
An NCIS One-shot, monofocused on L.J. Gibbs.
Disclaimer: I do not own the character(s) in this story; I am receiving no compensation of physical or monetary value (though the ego-stroking can be lovely); and no infringement is intended.
Summary: A not-so-unusual night in Gibbs' life. More stream-of-consciousness writing than usual.
Gibbs opened the door to his house, not bothering with the key. As usual, it was unlocked. Why lock it? The only items in the entire place he didn't want to lose weren't interesting to modern-day thieves. Who stole woodworking handtools? Who was left that knew how to use them? Or a stack of good lumber? Or the kit he had just received-the materials for his new boat?
It wasn't that he didn't want these things; part of him did. But three ex-wives and working in D.C. were not good for the old budget. Or the aging body. What had been so easy just a few years before was starting to take conscious effort.
He threw his keys on the table his second ex-wife hadn't had the foresight to take with her-a nice hickory piece that was worth more than she knew-and sighed. The couch was still where he'd left it. The little slip of paper dropped seemingly at random hadn't been disturbed, and, no, neither had the other little signals he'd set for himself.
His team thought he was too trusting, leaving the door unlocked and never seeming to bother with personal security. The truth was, he wasn't nearly that careless-not with himself, and certainly not with those who would come to see him. His door was open for any friend to come in, for help or company, any time of day. His house was safe, and not just for his father or Mike. Ziva and Abby had both hidden here when need arose.
No, it wasn't a place he wanted locked against a friend. No enemies could get in undetected. The old floors creaked just enough for him to tell the sound. He knew those sounds so very well. The cracks and pops of the wood settling in the night air, the slow groans and creaks as the weather changed. The tell-tale squeak the old boards made when someone walked across the seams.
So many would want to call it home. It wasn't. It was just the place where he stayed more often than not. He didn't have a home anymore, either. That implied warmth and comfort. A safety that he had lost so long ago, almost innocently unaware that death was stalking his family.
Never again.
Three wives agreed. This was not a home. It was a house. Hell, one ex-wife hadn't even seen the place except from the outside. Then again, they'd had a nice little apartment in Moscow. She didn't really care about this old place in Virginia.
Gibbs walked up the stairs, his footsteps light as ever, a ghost in his own residence. That almost sounded like a song. Maybe country. Not that he cared. His world revolved around five songs, two women, a bottle, and the bits and pieces of wood that would become his fifth boat.
Diane had burned. All that work, and the thoughts, the emotions, went up in smoke. Literally and figuratively. The Stephanie and the Ginger had been scuttled shortly after the respective divorces. He wondered if the speed with which those two boats had been built had contributed to the end of the marriages. It wasn't the first time the thought crossed his mind. At least one wife hadn't loved the smell of sawdust or the feel of his hands after the work was done for the night. She wanted neatly manicured men who smelled of expensive colognes. That had been the shortest of them all.
No, the boats were gone, even though the Kelly had survived long enough to sail to Franks' place. Abby had butchered her in the evidence garage. Much as he cared about his goddaughter-he loved her, in his own fashion-he hadn't enjoyed leaving the boat behind. But Kelly would have liked it that the boat named for her had gone to another little girl, a place to play and enjoy. Damn fate.
He slid out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. Water was a little cool, but he didn't want to stay in long anyway. Just enough to wake up a little more and fix dinner. Five minutes later, he was dried off and in a pair of old sweatpants with a Marines t-shirt, faded and a bit rattier than most of his clothes-Shannon had loved this shirt. Only reason to keep it.
He looked in his kitchen, then bypassed it for the basement. He had bourbon at his workbench and a boat to start laying out. Keel first, then ribs. Besides, he'd had dinner with the team while they were going over paperwork. He needed to chew over the day, put things together.
Remember Shannon, Kelly, the life he couldn't have again.
He looked at the stack of mail he'd left on the workbench the day before. Unopened. Unwanted.
Damn.
That was a lawyer's envelope. Sighing, he grabbed the smallest chisel on his bench and sliced open the letter with the sharp side. He read the letter. Blinked. Re-read it more slowly. Poured a glass of bourbon and grabbed the pair of readers he kept stashed behind some jars of screws and nails. No, the information didn't change.
Diane was giving up the alimony check. After almost twelve years, she had requested the judge to end the ordered alimony. It was the one way she'd kept her hooks in him since the split. Hell, she'd had a kid with Fornell, but she was letting him keep that much more of his paycheck? That didn't make sense. Not with her. On the other hand, maybe she'd grown up a little since having Emily.
He tossed the letter down and leaned against his bench. He wasn't sure what would happen next. No chance of Diane getting that same urge. Woman didn't do anything that would benefit herself…not that he could blame her. If he was honest with himself, he had given her what he could. There wasn't much of him left anymore. Diane hadn't understood that.
No one did. Except maybe Hollis. Then again, she'd wanted more, too. Even Jenny hadn't understood. She'd had her plan, her life, and was as selfish in her way as he had been in his.
Didn't make it easier. To keep getting up and doing the same damned thing day after day. To find a woman who wouldn't try to make him forget the best things in his life. To try and find peace. If peace really existed. If it wasn't just a lie told by the lucky ones.
He walked over to the long, heavy keel and manhandled it into place. Heavier than the last time he'd done this. Like everything else. Didn't matter.
Whatever the reason Diane had given the judge, it would make it a little easier to get by every month.
He took a drink of his bourbon and caught his breath again. Shoulder still hurt a little when he lifted something that heavy. He watched the wood, checking the angles and the set. It wouldn't roll if he started working on it tonight. May have to clamp it, just to be safe.
So Diane let him out of the monthly check. He'd be able to be a bit more flexible now. Build up the emergency fund again. He needed to check the roof-hadn't done that in a while. The days off he'd taken to help his father had eaten into his savings. Not a problem now. He'd be able to replace everything he'd lost within the next six months.
Maybe he could actually put something into a retirement fund, unlikely as retirement would be anytime soon. Hell, he was a good fifteen years away from that. And what would he possibly do all day? Stay here in this empty house and think about what-could-have-been?
No, it was best to use and save what he was getting. He could even get a few more shirts for work. Some of them were getting a bit thin from wear. Or a new jacket. Little looser at the shoulders than he liked on the oldest two. Damn aging.
Gibbs picked up the pencil he needed to start planning and shaping the keel and smiled to himself, that wry twist of lips that was so natural to him now.
Hell, maybe he'd even get a television.
A/N: My thanks to the review that called my attention to a posting error-the contractions all had apostrophes when I wrote this, but not when it uploaded. Grr. I also didn't know the names of the ex-wives, so I fudged. I've watched most episodes, but missed the wive's names. The 2nd ex-wife (also Fornell's) wasn't named except once, and apparently I missed that bit. I've rearranged the wives. As for alimony ending when the wife remarries…depends entirely upon the laws of the area, the divorce decree, and the judge. Let's just say Gibbs wasn't exactly a sympathetic party in the courtroom...