Ziva stepped into Gibbs' house cautiously, the door as always was unlocked that didn't surprise her. Even the dark of the living room didn't concern her, it was often dark upstairs when she stopped by for a cup of coffee and conversation. She stopped by about once a week or at least that was the pattern that had become habit lately. What concerned her were the sounds coming from his basement as she opened the door and looked down. As she descended the stairs she found the room was dimly lit when normally it shined with light. She normally found him bent over some project, sanding or honing the wood into whatever his mind wanted it to become. She had spent countless hours over the past few years watching him turn a simple block of wood into something beautiful or whimsical. It never failed to amaze her, the talent his hands held. Whether wielding a gun or a sanding block he finessed out something amazing.

Tonight the basement was lit only by a single bulb above the workbench holding his tools. On any given night the sounds of sandpaper mingled with the smell of sawdust and coffee. Tonight the smell of bourbon and the sound of laughter mixed in the air. Laughter was supposed to delight, to create joy and share happiness. The laughter that sounded throughout the basement made her still, just as she would have reached out to touch him. It was the laughter of a child, a ghost child, one that existed now only in pictures, memories and on the ribbons of tapes fast wearing out. The laughter echoed throughout the basement and settled on his shoulders a heavy weight of grief she could almost see. Her heart clenched as the ghost child spoke to him. The giggled "daddy", caused him to shake as he sat in front of her unaware of her presence behind him. That alone should of worried her but it was of little consequence when she watched him lift the bottle to his lips. The amber liquid slid from the neck of the bottle to his lips. The bottle was nearly clean of its contents, a bottle that only the day before had been nearly full. Another wave of laughter washed over concrete, wood and over them. His pain hit her as surely as any man's fist had in the past. Even as it passed through her she knew that his had to be far worse far more agonizing. It was this truth that finally allowed her to move closer to him.

The normally vibrant mischief filled eyes found her but barely acknowledged her. Instead they skirted away dulled with pain, and lethargy that was nothing like the man she knew. The faint silver trails down his cheeks weren't him either. That badge of mourning he had never shared, not at Jenny's funeral not even at Mike's. Tonight he made no move to wipe them away or even hide them. From his loose hold on the bottle it seemed perhaps too much of an effort.

Another voice joined in with the childish giggle. Laughter laced this one as well. It promised a happy homecoming and spoke of the distance between them. The irony of those words struck her even as his hand clenched the bottle tighter and his eyes welled with fresh tears. Spiky lashes closed over cold blue eyes, forcing her out and locking the past in. Her own eyes smarted with tears and the breath she drew in was far from steady. His grief so open and on display forced her to touch him. Her hand found his the most hesitant innocent touch. She expected his refusal, to be pushed away so it hurt even more when he clenched her hands so tightly it was almost painful. It hurt because it spoke of a pain so deep it pushed past his strength to fight. She had nothing to offer him nothing that could take away this moment in time or the one that had brought him here. All she could do was offer her strength for him to share. With her free hand she took the bottle; for a moment there was the tug of resistance and then it came free into her grasp. Without letting go of him she turned and set it on the work bench. He was leaning against his newly finished boat listening to his memories propped up against the upright hull. As she sat next to him feeling the weight of his head on her shoulder she remembered the only other time she'd seen his pain this close to the surface. A darkened moment in the hospital, when again his pain had brought forth her own, a moment she had never had the ability to forget. A giggle flowed through the room again followed by an achingly sweet "I love you," two voices in imperfect harmony. His hand clenched hers even harder but the pain she felt was all in her heart, all for him for all he'd lost. With the bittersweet whir and click of technology the tape ended. The silence was a deafening cascade of sound leaving the rude drip of water in the sink and the harsh anguish filled breathing released from his chest.

He moved to stand but only managed to rise against the side of the boat. His fist met the wood, an angry protest against his weakness. The strength of body was there the alcohol not enough to dull either his body or his loss. Years in the past and that loss left him clinging to wood bearing his child's name in a wash of color. She rose, finding his eyes again knowing they didn't see her only a memory. She stepped away as he watched her with the faintest hint of alarm. She reached into a cabinet and withdrew a blanket. It was old, well-loved and soft. From the cupboard followed a pillow that while clean had seen better days. The dancing ponies on the pillowcase made him flinch and swear. She laid them both in the cradle of the boat. Offering her hand again she led him into the cocoon like embrace of the wood. For a moment he looked as though he might fight her, seemed to want to fight his way out of the mire of torment. But just as quickly the battle was lost and he let her guide him to lie beside her.

The drip of water, the sounds of grief shouldn't have been a lullaby but that night they were.