Words and Whiskey
By SherryGabs
Rated: T—for minor language and alcohol use
Summary: Late night talk between Jethro and Jackson Gibbs. A little Team fun also.
Disclaimer: None of the characters, sad to say, are mine; but I can do with them what I please.
Note: Spoiler for 'Heartland'. I wish they'd had a scene like this on the show.
******************
The last evening spent with Jackson Gibbs was in his home. A two-bedroom one-story house in Stillwater's downtown district. Around the corner and behind the general store. The old garage separated the two. Even in his golden years, and needing a cane to get around, Jackson still managed to keep it well-maintained and it had a warm, homey, lived-in feel to his guests.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs had grown up in this house. After a homemade dinner that Jackson had prepared with the very lively help of Abby and Ziva that gave Jackson a chance to flirt with the two young women, Jethro roamed through the good-sized rooms. Memories, good and bad, played through his mind. Memories of his mother in the kitchen, making Thanksgiving dinner, baking pies, sitting the young boy up on the counter to fix his skinned knee. He could still see her pretty face smiling proudly at him when he showed her the A on his 4th grade report card. Jethro sighed sadly remembering her laying in the coffin; losing her in an automobile accident on an icy mountain road. He'd been fourteen, and it would take several years for the pain to lessen. He'd been angry that she'd died. He didn't know where the anger came from, but it was there. His dad told him it was okay to cry at her funeral, but he refused to. Not knowing what to do to make his son feel better, Jackson could only keep an eye on Jethro and hope he'd be all right. The kitchen was the hardest room to be in.
While Jethro roamed, the rest of his team were sitting around the comfortable living room laughing at the story his dad was telling. He only caught bits of it, but knew Jackson was once again talking of his Air Force days in Korea. He'd heard it a hundred times. The man could give Ducky a run for his money when it came to story telling.
Jethro opened the door to his old bedroom. He smiled, seeing Jackson had kept it just the way he'd left it, only tidied up a bit. His old ball glove was sitting on top of the dresser, a baseball still in the pocket. He picked it up and smelled the worn leather, remembering the little league games he loved to play in during the summers. Putting the glove back in its spot, he went to his bed and sat down. The quilt was the one his grandma had made for him when he'd starting sleeping in a twin-size bed, or what she'd called "big boy bed". She had died when he was quite young, so he only had vague memories of her.
The springs creaked under his weight as Jethro reached for the football that was nestled against the pillow. He tossed it up and caught it a few times. Football was one thing he and Jackson had in common. His dad came to every game. Up until his junior year in high school when a torn knee ligament forced him to quit. Another thing for Jethro to be angry over.
Looking at his old desk, Jethro saw the small wooden box he'd kept little treasures and trinkets in. He suddenly remembered the collection he'd kept in there and wondered if the cards were still in it. Getting up and taking the few steps to the desk he opened the lid and smiled. Yes, his baseball card collection was there, along with several other things he'd kept as a boy and now couldn't remember why he'd kept them. But the baseball cards were what he was interested in. A stack of original cards of players from the sixties and early seventies that he'd seen play on television during his childhood. The old rubber band broke when he removed it. He flipped through the cards that were still in excellent condition. Seeing the names, he figured some of these were probably worth a little money. Not that he'd sell them, but it might be interesting to find out just how much.
A loud burst of laughter from the living room interrupted his thoughts. Pocketing the baseball cards and taking a last look around his old bedroom, Jethro figured he'd better get back to them. As he closed the door behind him, he hoped his father hadn't switched his stories to something that would prove to be humiliating to him.
All eyes turned to Jethro when he entered the living room. He noticed Abby and Ziva were barely concealing giggles. Since when do Mossad agents giggle? Tony and Tim were sporting grins that could not possibly bode well for him.
Getting annoyed at the staring, Jethro glared back and barked, "What?!"
"Nothing," Jackson Gibbs said calmly, looking at him with an innocent expression.
"Nothing, Boss!" a few others echoed, suddenly shifting their gaze elsewhere.
"Abby?" Gibbs questioned, with a slight threat in his tone.
The goth's eyes looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her lips opened and closed like a big-mouth bass. Doing the best thing she could think of, she changed the subject.
"Gibbs!" She jumped up and hopped over to him, grabbing his arms. "Why don't you show me around town? Show me the places you used to hang out."
"There isn't all that much to see," he answered, not happy he wasn't getting an answer.
"Oh, sure there is!" she pleaded. "There's a lake nearby isn't there? There's always a lake near small towns. They're in all the movies. Just like there's always a bowling alley and a honky tonk and a—"
"Abby!"
"Please, Gibbs?" she pouted and made her eyes beg.
"I'm immune to that," he smirked.
Abby's face scrunched up in a frown.
"Oh, go on, Leroy," Jackson said. "Show her around while there's still some daylight left." He looked at Abby with a flirtatious smile. "Lake Tippacanoe is just a few miles outside of town. Wonderful view." He winked.
"See? Told ya!" she bounced up and down, smiling triumphantly.
"I'll go with you," Tony stood up. "Small towns have always held a fascination for me. They make me appreciate city life all the much more."
Jethro's eyes shot daggers at them all. "Fine!" he growled, then stormed towards the door muttering something about being relegated a tourist guide.
Tony and Abby clasped arms and followed him to the porch. On the way out Tony grinned and said loudly so the others could hear, "So, Boss.... what's this about you and your 9th grade English teacher? Voyeurism is a crime, you know."
Small pause..... Ziva and Tim smiled at each other expecting what was to come.
"Ow!" came Tony's cry of pain.
"What was that?" Jackson asked worriedly.
"Gibbs smack!" Ziva and Tim said together and laughed.
************
Later on Tim, Tony, Abby and Ziva were saying goodnight to Jackson before heading back to their motel for the night. The older Gibbs had given Tony a sweater to wear since Abby had "accidentally" let his fall into the murky lake. Jethro waited silently by the door.
"See ya, Jack," he said before following the others out.
"Leroy, wait!" Jackson touched his arm. "Could you stay? We've hardly had any time to just talk." He looked slightly uncomfortable. "I'd like to get to know you again. You're all I have left and us being strangers just ain't right."
Jethro looked down and silently let out a long breath. He really didn't want to stay for a heart-to-heart with the old man. So many memories didn't need rehashed, he figured. And much of his life since leaving home wasn't exactly something he was proud of.
He looked up into his father's eyes that were identical to his and saw the desperate need for acceptance, or maybe for absolution. His pessimistic heart mellowed and he nodded his head. "Sure."
Turning back to his team who were already outside, "Ziva!" he called. She turned and he tossed her the car keys. "I'll meet up with you guys later. And don't speed! I don't think Ed's too happy with us right now and he'd be more than happy to write you up."
Closing the door, Jethro removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. He turned back to his father. "So let's talk." He wondered why he was feeling more like a teenager than a grown adult again.
"Go sit down, I'll get us a drink," Jackson offered.
Jethro made himself comfortable on the sofa, kicked his shoes off and put his feet up on the coffee table. He rubbed his hands down his face and sighed tiredly. Jackson came back with two glasses and an old dusty bottle. The bottle had no label and looked vaguely familiar.
Pouring each a glass Jackson said, "One should always have a bottle around in case a guest drops by."
Jethro laughed. "I keep mine next to the paint stripper. Someday I'll probably get them mixed up."
Jackson smiled as he sat in his favorite recliner across from his son. "It's family tradition. My daddy made his own. And he had a lot of friends that liked to drop by!"
"Is his old shack up in the hills still around? Where he kept his still?"
"I don't know. Haven't been up there since he died." He held up the bottle. "This is the last bottle from that still."
Jethro stared at the bottle, then his father. He felt honored.
He held up his glass. "To Grand Dad."
Jackson held up his glass in toast. "To the old slug and his rotgut!"
Jethro took a sip and winced at the burning sensation in his throat. "Whoo! High octane that is."
"Best there is," Jackson agreed, savoring the liquid fire.
They sat quietly for a few minutes before Jackson cleared his throat.
"Leroy, I owe you an apology."
Wondering if he'd heard right, Jethro tried not to sound surprised. His father, apologize? "What for?"
"I haven't been fair to you these past couple of days," Jackson admitted. "I guess when you first got here I still saw the boy who had no idea where he was going in life. Who was angry about everything and would pick a fight with whatever soul was unlucky enough to cross his path. I doubted you, I judged you, I questioned your authority." He shrugged. "I was wrong."
Jethro had to refrain from hanging his mouth open in shock. These were the last words he'd expect to hear from his dad. "Um, what brought all this on?"
"I saw how you handled the whole Chuck Winslow/Ethan LaCombe business. I kept expecting you to go off half-cocked and wanting to bust heads, like the old you." Jackson looked a little shamed. "Instead, you kept calm and handled it all like a professional. The only times you got your hackles raised was with me."
Jethro took another long sip of his whiskey. "I purposely kept my cool with Chuck because he also was expecting me to behave like the kid he used to know. I let him have his superior attitude, because I knew, in the end, I'd bring him back down to earth." In a quieter voice. "I didn't mean to lose my temper with you."
"But I made it easy," Jackson admitted. "I nit-picked and I put you down. You have a right to be angry."
"But I don't wanna be," Jethro said honestly.
"I was talking with Tim and Ziva while you were out with Abby and Tony," Jackson poured them each more to drink. He was remembering the "Boss" comments he'd thrown at Jethro the day before. "They said that most of the teams in your agency refer to their supervising agents as "Boss", that it's a show of respect for them."
"Not like the chain gang and prison guard type of "Boss" you were probably thinking?" Jethro asked.
"So I like Paul Newman," Jackson raised his arms. "Shoot me." He chuckled and got serious again. "Ziva and Tim also told me how you go above and beyond what most team leaders do for their teams. So that when they call you "Boss", it's not only well-earned respect.... but also affection. I just wanted to apologize for calling you out on it."
There was another big apology he wanted to make. "I'm also sorry for bringing a date to Shannon and Kelly's funeral. I didn't realize it would get you so upset."
"No! Stop!" Jethro's head was beginning to spin. He'd felt grateful knowing his team felt the way they did towards him and hearing his father compliment him on it. He just wasn't used to much praise from his dad, or all these apologies. But when it came to his own actions towards Jackson at the funeral he had his own apologies to make.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Jackson looked at him quizzically.
"I overreacted," Jethro admitted with a sad, quiet voice. "My head was not exactly in the right place at the time. I was depressed, confused, and in a lot of pain. But most of all, I was so damned angry. Angry that they had been killed and I wasn't there to protect them. I was just ready to lash out at anyone and that just happened to be you."
Jethro looked his dad in the eye. "You had every right to bring whomever you wanted. I had no right to say otherwise. And for that, I apologize. Mom had been long gone and you were right to get on with your life and find happiness with someone else."
"I always thought that was the reason you haven't been in contact all these years," Jackson said, emptying his glass.
Jethro finished his also and held it out for some more. This would be glass number three and he was already feeling warm all over. "Partially, maybe. After our talk in the store, I've been thinking about it. You said yours and mom's marriage hadn't been all that good. I know exactly how that feels."
"But I thought you and Shannon had a great marriage."
"Shannon and I did." His dad had no idea what was coming next and Jethro smiled at the shock he was about to give him. "Since then I've been married—and divorced—three times."
"What!" the older man exclaimed with a shocked expression. "You have three ex-wives?!"
"Yep," Jethro laughed out loud. "Pathetic, huh?"
Jackson shook his head and thought a moment. "Maybe both of us are pathetic. I can't seem to keep a girlfriend more than a coupla months. And there's only so many to choose from around this town."
"Well, they say there's someone for everyone. You'll get lucky one of these times."
"Maybe." Jackson chuckled. "Three ex-wives, I still can't believe it. You have to pay alimony to all of them?"
"Just the first and third. The second got remarried to a buddy of mine from the FBI. But not before she clobbered me with a baseball bat and cleaned out our bank account. I tried to warn him about her, but he didn't listen. Now they're divorced, too."
"She sounds like a real spitfire," Jackson laughed.
"So was number three," Jethro grinned. "She beaned me with a seven iron."
"Oh boy, Leroy, you really know how to pick 'em!"
Jethro held his glass up to toast once again. "To exes and the agony of alimony payments."
"May they remarry--and soon!" Both downed the remainder of their whiskeys.
Jethro turned thoughtful, refilling them once again. They were both truly on their way to a good buzz.
"I made the mistake of thinking I could replace Shannon with the first one--Julie. I loved her, but for the wrong reason. She caught on eventually. Diane and Stephanie I married because I just didn't want to be alone. Another wrong reason, but I still loved them in a way."
"Yeah, I understand loneliness," Jackson offered honestly. "No more kids?"
"No." Jethro turned his glass, watching the brown liquid swirl within. "I was too scared. Scared of losing another one somehow."
"You know the chances of that happening would be pretty slim. You can't let that fear rule your life, Leroy."
"Fear of losing another child, or of my child losing me because of my job. I can't take that risk again." He waved his empty hand and shook his head dizzily. " 'Sides, I'm getting too old for it all anyway. And I'm happy bein' alone."
Jackson stared at him. "Really?"
Jethro stared back at him. He wanted to say "Yes!", but damned if too much alcohol only made him all the more honest. "No," he admitted, "but I've learned to live with it."
"That's more like it." Jackson nodded.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, refilling the glasses again. Damn, that bottle was going quick.
"Dad?" The word sounded foreign to Jethro.
"Hmm?"
"You never had a chance to answer the question I asked in the store."
Jackson had to think for a confused moment. "You'll have to refresh this old, whiskey-laden mind, Son."
Jethro smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen his dad drunk. He wasn't in any better condition.
"You were talkin' about how different I was before Shannon, during, and then after Shannon. I asked you what you saw in my eyes now."
Jethro was looking at his father so Jackson could see his eyes. He was embarrassed to admit it to himself, but he really wanted to know.
Jackson thought a moment. He wanted to tread carefully, knowing that his words would have a profound affect on his son. It didn't take him long to realize that the words he was looking for weren't hard to find at all.
"I see a man who's been kicked around by life and came back fighting. I see someone whose ambitions have set him on a course to do what's right for this country and he damn well knows what's needed to set things straight and won't stop fighting that fight. You've earned the respect and dedication of your coworkers and they know you'll have their trust no matter what. You're honest to a fault and expect it from everyone around you also."
Jackson's eyes glowed with a warmth he hadn't felt in many years. "I could go on and on, but I know you're a man of few words. So let me just say, Leroy, that when I look in those baby blues of yours I see one hell of a man that I am damn proud to call my son."
Jethro's breath hitched and he felt a sudden hot sting in his eyes. He quickly looked down into his glass and took a deep, silent, shuddering breath. His father's words did effect him in a way he didn't quite know how to deal with. His chest felt heavy with emotion in the most positive way. A couple of days ago, he wouldn't have cared what his dad's opinion of him had been. Now.... Jethro realized that he did care and really wanted an honest answer. The answer he got was like a balm to his formerly pained soul.
Looking back at Jackson, Jethro couldn't quite get is vocal chords to work so he just nodded his appreciation.
A slightly awkward uncomfortable silence followed until Jackson finally broke the ice.
"So tell me what you did to Tony that Ziva and Tim called a 'Gibbs smack'."
Jethro laughed heartily and told Jackson of his tradition of keeping his team focused. Something that had been done to him by his former boss.
Now that conversation was flowing again, along with the rest of the bottle, the two men learned more about each other's lives, past and present. The stories would get wilder or more incoherent the drunker they became, but neither could remember having a better time together. If it took Grand Dad's last bottle to get them to be open and honest with each other, then God bless the old lush.
Eventually it became difficult to stay awake. Jackson had reclined his chair back and had his feet propped up. Jethro decided trying to get back to the motel was probably not a good idea and fell over full-length on the sofa. Thinking his dad was already passed out, Jethro let out a sigh of comfort and was about sink into sleep when his eyes jerked open as Jackson spoke again.
"Can I ask you something else, Leroy?" he asked tiredly, one arm covering his eyes.
"Sure," he slurred, rousing up again.
"Why did you let Tim think I was dead?"
"Wha'?"
"I asked Tim if you ever spoke of me and he said you said I was dead."
"I didn't—" Jethro started saying, then remembered the phone conversation that Tim had probably overheard when he had mentioned his father being long gone.
"Oh that!" he snorted drunkenly. "We were on a case and I was talkin' on the phone with a mobster kingpin. I'd pissed him off royally and he threatened to kill all the male members of my family. So I told him you were already dead cuz I didn't think you'd appreciate having the Italian mafia show up on your doorstep."
"Oh," Jackson lifted his arm and looked over with bleary eyes. "I guess that was a good thing then."
"I tried offering him the names and addresses of my ex-wives," Jethro shrugged and chuckled. "Not even he wanted them!"
Jackson smiled and lowered his arm back down over his eyes. "Good night, son."
"Night, Dad." Jethro watched the lingering grin on his dad's face fade as sleep overcame the older man. It only took a moment for snoring to start. He continued to stare with affection at his father and vowed to himself that he would never let them drift so far apart ever again.
Jethro saw a shiver run through his father. He grabbed the throw blanket that was over the back of the sofa and, after a few tries, managed to get up on his feet. His head started spinning wildly and he had to bend over and use the coffee table for support as he stumbled his way around it. Jethro gently laid the blanket over his dad and carefully bent down to kiss the top of his head. "I may not have ever said this before, but I do love you, Dad."
***************
The next morning started bright and sunny when the rest of the Team showed up at the Gibbs house to pick their boss up at 7:00 a.m. When no one answered his knock, Tony tried the doorknob and the door opened easily.
"What is it with Gibbs men and not locking doors?" he wondered out loud.
"Well, our Gibbs has his guns that he's more than willing to use," Abby pointed out cheerfully. "And do people even lock their doors in Hazard County?"
They walked in and stared wide-eyed at the spectacle before them.
"Ahhh, isn't that cute?" Ziva offered. "I think."
Jackson Gibbs was sprawled out on his recliner, snoring quite loudly. Jethro was face down on the sofa, his arm and leg on the open side both fallen down to the floor. Not a sound came from him.
"Is he even breathing?" Tim asked worriedly.
"Must have been some night." Tony spied the empty bottle on the coffee table. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed. "Whoa! That's enough to make my eyes water!"
He laid the bottle back down with a shudder and tentatively approached his boss. "Gibbs? Wakey, wakey." Not getting any response, Tony decided to take his life into his own hands. He moved around to the back of the sofa in case he needed room to escape.
The four agents all leaned over the sofa and with a look of fear in his eyes, Tony nudged Jethro's shoulder. "Boss?"
They all jumped back in fright when Jethro's arm suddenly came flailing up. "What!"
He tried getting up too quickly and in his inebriated, muddled haze overcompensated and Jethro ended up on the floor. "Ah, God!" He held his head in his hands and groaned. "What the hell?!"
The noise had roused Jackson. For someone who had drunk half a bottle of high proof homemade whiskey, he seemed to wake up rather smoothly. He blinked blearily at the four newcomers and smiled. "Well, hi there, kids. Good to see you again."
"Coffee," Jethro muttered helplessly from down below. He finally managed to sit up and glared at his agents with bloodshot eyes. "Coffee!!"
"I'll get it!" Abby still had a scared look on her face as she ran to the safety of the kitchen.
"I'll help!" Ziva chased after Abby, happy to leave the room.
Jackson got up from his chair and stretched. He looked down at Jethro. "What are you doing on the floor?"
Jethro tried to keep some of the malice from his glare. "Trying to find the other half of my head."
"Guess we overdid it last night."
"Ya think?"
Jackson chuckled shamelessly. "Helluva good time, though."
Jethro looked up at him incredulously. "How can you be so chipper?"
"I'm used to the stuff. You were a marine, certainly you're used to drinking like that."
"A long time ago!"
Jackson had the sense to look contrite. "Think I'll go help Abby in the kitchen. Anyone up for some breakfast?" he asked the others.
"Actually, we've already eaten, Mr. Gibbs—er, Jackson," Tony told him. He was beginning to enjoy seeing his boss in his hangover from hell. Good fodder for future jokes. "We thought Gibbs, Jr. would want to get an early start this morning." He snickered. "Guess not."
"Um, you, uh, okay, Boss?" McGee eyed his mentor nervously.
"Just peachy." Jethro muttered. "A few cups of coffee, a handful of aspirin and I'll be right as rain."
"I'll go make him some toast," Jackson smiled knowingly. "He should be able to stomach that, at least."
"None of that whole wheat crap!" Jethro grumbled at the retreating back.
"Well, Gibbs, a man your age really could use the extra fiber. After all, you're not big on eating vegetables and--" Tony decided not to elaborate when he saw the famous death glare.
"Are you two going to help me up or just stand there looking stupid?" Jethro challenged them.
Tony and Tim looked at each other—stupidly—then tripped over themselves to get to Gibbs. Each grabbed an arm and, once they had him on his feet, held on till Jethro stopped swaying.
Tony felt the pain on the back of his head before he even saw the arm move. "Ow! What was that for!?"
"For being smarmy."
"Smarmy?" Tony rubbed his head and looked confused. "What kind of a word is smarmy?"
"I think he means snarky," McGee said with his 'I'm an MIT grad and smarter than you' look. "Rudely sarcastic or disrespectful; snide."
Jethro hit Tim even harder than he did Tony. "Shut your mouth, McDictionary!" He rolled his eyes in exasperation at them both. "I need the head."
Tim and Tony, both with pained expressions watched as Gibbs slowly and carefully made his way to the bathroom. "How many hours are we going to be in the same car with him?" Tony asked frightfully.
"Too many," Tim answered. "Way too many."
**************
An hour later, after half a pot of strong coffee and time for the aspirin to kick in, Jethro felt much better. He didn't even argue when Jackson suggested they stop by his store to pick up some snacks for the road. On him, of course.
They were saying goodbyes again. And when Jackson held out the keys for Jethro to take, the younger man couldn't believe his eyes.
"It's just taking up space." Jackson was pleased to see the look of surprise on his son's face.
The Dodge Charger Jethro had tried all those years ago to restore, but not gotten far on, had been painstakingly finished just the way he'd dreamed it would look by his father. He looked into his dad's eyes and remembered the sacrifices the man had made to give him the white picket fence dream childhood that everyone wanted for their children. He realized the man had never faltered in his love in all these years. Jethro had just been too blinded by his own life to see it.
'Never again,' Jethro swore to himself as he held his father in a close hug. 'I'll never forget everything you've done for me. Never forget that we have each other.'
"Bye, Dad."
The End