Author's Note: The title of this series was 'borrowed' from Carrie Fisher, the characters from CBS and the first postcard/chapter (now relocated and extended) was my contribution to scousemuz1k's fic Hap Says Hello. It's a tag to Hiatus (Part 2). I've invented a visit to Gibbs' cabin before he heads to Mexico.


Staring into the flames Gibbs finds his mind is replaying the events of the previous week. The night Ducky had driven him home when not a word had been exchanged between them his friend understanding that really there was nothing that could be said. No words that would've been adequate for the moment.

Mike was waiting for him and he too just watched silently as Gibbs had made the preparations needed for a trip to his cabin. Gathering clothes, supplies and his fishing gear. He was so absorbed in what he was doing, in pushing forward, moving on and not stopping, not thinking that he hadn't even heard Franks leave. On the seat of his truck had been a note.

Probie,
If the cabin doesn't work come for a visit.
Mike.

He'd driven through the night then spent the next week working on the cabin, fishing, walking the woods. Trying to exhaust himself physically in the hope that the flashes of memories that had been disturbing his nights and if he were being totally honest some of his days as well would be driven away.

Of course this was definitely not what the doctors had told him to do on his release from hospital so contrary to everything is his nature he had been trying to pace himself. Sitting staring at the lake or the fire reading or simply letting his mind wander where it will...

He finds himself smiling as he recalls visiting Mike in Mexico a few years ago. Franks relaxing with a beer on the deck and supervising his own efforts at repairs. Of course this supervising usually only extended as far as pointing him in the direction of the tool box and passing the odd item but that was all that was needed. After the recent events maybe spending time visiting his old mentor simply drinking, sleeping and working would be good therapy.

Gibbs goes outside to his truck and removes a postcard and pen from the glove box. Returning to the cabin he pulls the stump chair up to the stump table, thinks a minute and begins to write.

Picture: Barely Bikini Wearing Babe.

Mike,
Weather cool. Fishing great. Boat not sunk. Memories returning. Some clearer than others. Did you really almost marry the same woman twice?
Will visit soon,
Probie.

He'd post it that afternoon after going into town to restock his food supplies.

Whatever the others might think he had not run away to hide. He had not run from doing his duty. He'd left NCIS because the fools at the top had not listened. He'd given everything he had and almost lost his life, yet it had not made a difference. He had nothing left to contribute and somehow, deep down he knew that those he was leaving behind Jenny, Tony, Tim, Ziva, Abby, Ducky and the agency could carry on, could manage without him. Not remembering much in his gut, he had still known that.

With that task complete he settles himself on his camp bed for the afternoon rest he's found that he now needs to get him through the day. Sometimes he finds himself sleeping for short periods but usually he just stares at the roof of the cabin remembering. People, places, cases. His girls. His team. His brothers-in-arms. Many long gone. All have appeared and then disappeared with the opening of his eyes.

Memories of his girls Shannon and Kelly are understandably the clearest. Perhaps tinted a bit with the bias of love and the passing of time but there and easy to recall as he has so many times in the past.

Introspection and indulging in remembering the past had never really been a part of his life before the explosion forced him to it. In fact this all might be being made harder as a result of a lifetime spent avoiding doing those very things. Despite what Abby might have tried to get him to open up about, and she had done, hadn't she... somehow he knew that had happened... about the closest he has come to this in the past would probably be the very occasional shared confidence over a drink with Ducky. All his life he has kept his pain to himself and 'got on with the job', whatever job that might have been at the time.

Studying, chores and working on his car after his Mom died. He'd never realized until now, but that was when he'd set the pattern for later life, and building boats in his basement. Always moving on, to the next task; the next mission, the next thing. Keeping faith when his comrades were falling in the desert dust. Joining NIS when the girls were killed. The case when an agent was lost. He'd go down into the basement and focus on the moment. Concentrate on the wood and push any hint of feelings, of emotion away. It was his means of survival.

Yet is survival living? Pushing everyone away? Living only for his work? What will his life be if this situation can't be fixed? If he can't return, at least in some capacity, to NCIS? Surely there's more to Leroy Jethro Gibbs than being an NCIS special agent?

He sighs and sits up. The doctors had been insistent that he not try and force things. That he just let the memories flow whenever they did. He glances at his watch. Time to head back to the lake to see what's for dinner.