The plane fit comfortably in his hand as he began to smooth the
boards. As his hands ran over the curving ribs, an observer might describe
his attitude as careful, perhaps even loving. If loving was the word, it
might surprise those who knew him, for Jethro Gibbs did not love many
things. Enjoyed, occasionally. Obsessed over, certainly. But loved? It
simply wasn't a word used in the same sentence with his name.
It wasn't a matter of passion. Those who knew him, and even those who didn't, often commented on his intensity. When he chose, he could commit his whole being to a task. In fact, more often than not it was not even a matter of choice. He was wired to perform a duty to the best of his ability, and he believed that meant perfection.
No, it wasn't lack of passion that kept him aloof and unloving. It was more like...fear. Now, fear was also not a word associated with Jethro Gibbs, but often when it comes to love nothing is as usual.
He was not afraid of love itself, though he may have thought so. He was afraid of what he thought love was. He had thought he loved all three of his wives, at some point in time anyway, but in truth he confused love with being in love. Being in love is a heady feeling, a butterfly stomach, a mindless adoration. There's nothing wrong with it; it often precedes or accompanies love. But love itself goes deeper. Love is a selfless desire to see another happy, a sincere longing for their well-being, a deep attraction that goes far beyond the physical and even emotional. Jethro Gibbs had been in love with all three of his wives, at the beginning. But it is doubtful that he ever truly loved them.
Being in love was not all he feared. He feared rejection; he feared deep loss. But most of all, he feared failure. He worried that he would not be able to provide, to fulfill, to satisfy. He was concerned that he would not be good enough for her, that she would come to some harm because of his ineptitude. Though his fears were mostly unfounded, he could not shake them.
And so he had his boat. The one thing in his world he would allow himself to love. He could not fail it and it could not reject him. But neither could it fulfill him. He had little meaningful human contact and a boat just didn't cut it when it came to essential contentment. He had little choice, however. The boat would have to do. There was no one he would allow himself to get close to. Except...
He smiled slightly as he pictured her, thick auburn hair cascading down her back, deep brown eyes sparkling as her mouth turned upward in a smile. He would do anything to make her smile, make those eyes sparkle. He hated it when she was downcast. For whatever reason, her gloom seemed a reflection on his inability to make her happy. And he wanted above all to make her happy.
He could see how she interacted with his other young protégé. He could sense the feeling between them. He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. But he wanted her to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him. He would see to it that the boy took care of her, or else.
He loved Kate. He only hoped that Tony did too.
It wasn't a matter of passion. Those who knew him, and even those who didn't, often commented on his intensity. When he chose, he could commit his whole being to a task. In fact, more often than not it was not even a matter of choice. He was wired to perform a duty to the best of his ability, and he believed that meant perfection.
No, it wasn't lack of passion that kept him aloof and unloving. It was more like...fear. Now, fear was also not a word associated with Jethro Gibbs, but often when it comes to love nothing is as usual.
He was not afraid of love itself, though he may have thought so. He was afraid of what he thought love was. He had thought he loved all three of his wives, at some point in time anyway, but in truth he confused love with being in love. Being in love is a heady feeling, a butterfly stomach, a mindless adoration. There's nothing wrong with it; it often precedes or accompanies love. But love itself goes deeper. Love is a selfless desire to see another happy, a sincere longing for their well-being, a deep attraction that goes far beyond the physical and even emotional. Jethro Gibbs had been in love with all three of his wives, at the beginning. But it is doubtful that he ever truly loved them.
Being in love was not all he feared. He feared rejection; he feared deep loss. But most of all, he feared failure. He worried that he would not be able to provide, to fulfill, to satisfy. He was concerned that he would not be good enough for her, that she would come to some harm because of his ineptitude. Though his fears were mostly unfounded, he could not shake them.
And so he had his boat. The one thing in his world he would allow himself to love. He could not fail it and it could not reject him. But neither could it fulfill him. He had little meaningful human contact and a boat just didn't cut it when it came to essential contentment. He had little choice, however. The boat would have to do. There was no one he would allow himself to get close to. Except...
He smiled slightly as he pictured her, thick auburn hair cascading down her back, deep brown eyes sparkling as her mouth turned upward in a smile. He would do anything to make her smile, make those eyes sparkle. He hated it when she was downcast. For whatever reason, her gloom seemed a reflection on his inability to make her happy. And he wanted above all to make her happy.
He could see how she interacted with his other young protégé. He could sense the feeling between them. He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. But he wanted her to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him. He would see to it that the boy took care of her, or else.
He loved Kate. He only hoped that Tony did too.