Planing was his favorite thing. Gibbs absolutely cherished the way the tool felt in his hands, and this particular plane was his favorite. His left palm wrapped perfectly over the rosewood knob so that there wasn't even enough space between his skin and the wood for an ant to crawl through. Every crease of his hand was etched into the knob, and he loved the shimmer of it that came from nothing but the combination of the sweat and oil from his palm and time. The handle in the back got the exact same treatment when his fingers grasped it, caressing the wood like a woman. And that was just it; the boat was his lady now, and he planned on treating her like a woman deserved. Which is why every night he was down in the basement, regardless of what he had planned on doing to the boat, sanding, gluing, staining; he always ended with the plane and as the building of the boat progressed, the size of his selected cutter diminished so that the boat was left every night with a more beautifully fine finish than the night before. Afterwards, he made sure to treat the plane just as well as the boat and would end the night-or morning for that matter- by taking it apart and cleaning it. Not only was this good for the plane but good for him as well. He wasn't much for idle hands so this menial task always gave him good time to think.

But if he was honest, it wasn't even the plane itself that he loved. It was the sound. He always swore there was no better sound in the world than silence, but if he couldn't have that he would settle for the scraping of a plane any day. He wasn't much for words, but when asked to describe it he always compared it to the way an ice skate shaves the ice when stopping. He also decided that each combination of plane and cutter had that one magical angle that, when they came together on a fine piece of mahogany, it reverberated better than the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. And every fluid motion of his that produced this sound always ended with a satisfying breath at the end as the wood shaving fell to the floor and settled on the concrete. And to top it all off, planing was something he could do with a glass of bourbon on the side. It wasn't like sawing where a little shake might cost him some skin, or worse, part of the boat. He assumed that if this plane could talk, it would be an expert on Gentlemen Jack and Maker's Mark.

Yes, planing was indeed his favorite thing. Visitors, on the other hand, were not. He hoped that the owner of the polished shoes standing on the top step of the stairs would make it quick. He had wood to shave, so he continued his task without looking to see who the disembodied voice was coming from.

"Boss," the agent said with a small knock on the door, "can I come in?"

"Never have to ask, DiNozzo." It was true, Gibbs was always a bit rough with DiNozzo; he would never deny it, and usually he would take pride in it. But he never ever minded talking to the young agent. In fact, he and Abby and Ducky were the longest running members of Team Gibbs and that was something to be respected. So he was right: visitors were not his favorite thing, but some visitors were definitely on the list of things that were alright.

"Boss, do you like… uh," Tony paused his descent down the stairs to look at the object in his hands, "Allesverloren's Cabernet Sauvignon?" He glanced back up to meet Gibbs's face of sheer confusion and nonunderstanding.

"Do I like what," he inquired with extra emphasis on the "what."

"Red wine." Tony gave the bottle a little jerk just to clarify that "red wine" and the previous word that he had just read off without really knowing how to pronounce it were in fact the same thing. Gibbs replied with a slight grin as he cracked open the bottle of bourbon for only the second time that night and topped off his coffee cup. "No," he ended with the hint of a chuckle, amused that Tony would even think that bottle of grapes had any place among his paint thinners.

"Me neither," Tony agreed as he finished the last step and tossed the bottle of wine into the garbage can and watched it land among the pile of sawdust and various stained towels. Taking that as his cue, Gibbs grabbed a second coffee cup, blew out the collected dust and poured a drink to match. He said nothing as he passed it over to his visitor. Tony took the cup with a nod in thanks but stopped when he saw the image on the front. A picture of a drill instructor in the face of a young recruit was framed by the words "We don't promise you a rose garden." Yeah, that's my life, Tony thought. Gibbs was a Marine through and through.

"Big date tonight, DiNozzo," Gibbs asked as he set the cup down and turned back to his boat after noticing the nicer-than-usual clothes.

"Yeah, Boss. Well, not big... well, date." Tony pursed his lips trying to remember the girl, but all he could remember was how bored he was. That was unusual for Tony. "Gibbs, can I ask you a question," he blurted out so fast he almost wasn't sure he had even said it.

Gibbs was more skilled at reading people than anyone Tony knew, but he didn't think he had been that easy to read until Gibbs responded, "Is this about Ziva?" Her name hung in the air around them with as much grace as the ex-assassin herself, prickling the skin of the two friends who missed her dearly.

"Kinda, yeah. How'd you know, Boss?" Tony was slightly taken aback at Gibbs's forthrightness.

"I know, Tony."

"Right," Tony conceded as he crossed the room and perched himself on a lone sawhorse. Tony tossed his question around in his mouth with the bourbon, weighing just exactly how much this was going to burn. "Was it ever the same?"

"Was what ever the same?" Gibbs was really only half listening. He was much more focused on blowing the dust from the wooden rib.

"Love after Shannon." Gibbs was listening now. But instead of shutting down like Tony assumed he would, Gibbs flashed him a half-cocked grin.

"No," he uttered fondly. There was a reason he had so many ex-wives.

"I can't describe it, Boss. She's gone and it's like I can't-"

"I can," he interjected. Tony skidded to a halt at the statement and watched Gibbs pull the bottle of Tennessee whiskey from the shelf, fill his cup for the third time, and plop it on the table next to the bourbon. His curiosity was peaked as Gibbs took a sip and finally opened his mouth to speak. "It's like having wine after whiskey."

Tony glanced the trashcan in amusement but it was obvious that the narrowing of his eyes meant that he wasn't quite understanding. Gibbs held his cup up to the light and turned it in illustration. "Once you've tasted a love that strong... you can't go back."

"You can't settle on anything less," Tony finished matter-of-factly, adding a nod of understanding.

"Hell, how many wives have I had Tony," he paused and turned to a framed photo stashed on a shelf across the shop causing Tony to follow his gaze to a beautiful young woman and child. "Everything after her was all so..."

"Watered down?" Gibbs didn't even acknowledge that Tony had finished his sentence. He just took another swallow, placed the cup down, and went back to planing. Tony knew by that it was time to sit in silence for a little, and he sat and thought about her. Ziva was like his first shot of whiskey. Smokey... packed just enough punch to take the breath out of you and keep you crawling back, he thought as he stared into his drink. He was building on the courage to finish the conversation, but he was surprised that he didn't have to when Gibbs suddenly cut through the silence.

"She's like something that you crave." Gibbs must have decided he was done planing for the night because he had begun the process of taking the tool apart.

"Yeah, Boss," Tony concurred as he looked back into his drink smiling. "Boss, was Shannon like a glass of whiskey, then?"

He laughed and smirked, lost in a fond memory before he looked up. "Yeah. Yeah she was... Cool and clean... but real strong," muttered as he slipped the cutter out of the mouth of the plane. Tony took that as his exit cue.

"Thanks for the drink, Boss," he said after a couple moments as he stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers.

"See you tomorrow, DiNozzo.

Tony was halfway up the stairs when he stopped and turned towards Gibbs who was now sharpening the blade on an oil stone. "You can keep the wine, Boss," he smirked as he referred to the forgotten bottle in the trashcan.

"Don't need it," he hollered in return as he took another sip from his coffee cup. Tony smiled and patted the door frame as he left, but it was small and wanting. He understood now and once again he knew that Gibbs was spot on. With Ziva gone, anything after her would be like trying to enjoy wine after whiskey.

And that's what got him.